Muddy
Chapter 9: Changed
7th year continued...
When Hermione entered the cottages kitchen and multiple pairs of eyes set upon her, she knew that she and Draco had been seen kissing on the shore. Harry, Bill, and Fleur all had expressions of worried confusion directed her way, while Ron looked as though he might explode, his face and neck a brighter red than she had ever witnessed. But it was the cutting look from Lucius Malfoy, who sat ridged at the small kitchen table with his jaw set and hands fisted on the table top that truly caused the drop in Hermione's stomach. It was a look of cold, hateful fury.
Hermione stood frozen in the doorway, mouth parted as whatever greeting she'd been about to give died on her swollen lips.
And then Draco was behind her, his eyes scanning the room and it's overwhelmingly hostile nature, and without a word he hooked an arm around Hermione's waist, and calm set in around her. Her eyes closed, and she remembered the last few hours of the day, the clarity of them setting in and making a home in her mind, so that she would recall them with exact detail until the day she died.
What had begun as an attempt at comfort had turned into a long stroll on the beach, hands clasped tightly as wave after wave pushed gently on their shins. She'd been elated just to have things click back into place for the two of them, an easy comradery settling over their words, a friendship asserted once more.
But things were different, and she knew they had been for a while. In her fifth year she'd known it, but had refused any examination of the details. Because her fifth year at Hogwarts was when Hermione Granger, bookish, muggle born witch, had begun to feel the pull of heartstrings for Draco Malfoy, a boy she had no apparent commonality with. And it had only been an experience of constant whiplash from then on, culminating in his lost look of distress as he'd started at her across the halls at the end of sixth year, before being hoisted through the doors to witness Albus Dumbledore's death, and live out his summer as a Death Eater. Hermione's mind had been in constant frenzy since then, living out a hell in which she constantly wondered about Draco, his eyes plaguing her dreams, his voice her thoughts, and his face her memories. She'd worried for him to the point of sickness, and late at night she fleetingly would wonder if he was feeling the same.
Her answer had been a resounding yes, told in his actions at the Manor. Even with the death and tragedy that surrounded that evening, Hermione remembered with distinct clarity the look of panic on Draco's face when he saw her marched into the Manor by Snatchers. His unconvincing yet adamant attempts to persuade a room full of Voldemort's supporters that she was not who they believed she was. His risk of life to try to protect her, and his unflinching resolve to act, to kill, to keep her safe. And he'd held her, he'd pressed lips to her forehead that seemed to scorch, he'd said words to her, both with voice and expression, and locked them into her mind for eternity.
And then, days passing as they processed events and grieved, they were standing in the shallow of the ocean, surrounded by the sounds of waves and gulls, and they shared the kiss.
Kisses, really, for they had not stopped after the initial heated press of lips. And while they were not Hermione's first, they might as well have been, for no other had elicited such a feeling of rising need, this dizzying reaction of breathless desire. She had felt as though she were melting into Draco as he had pulled her close, pressing her to him with a hand around her waist, the other moving from her cheek to the nape of her neck and burying itself into her hair.
When her mind finally clicked into place that what was happening was really happening, she pushed forward a bit, meeting his lips in their frenzy. Draco made a small hum of pleasure, and a thrill shot through her like a bolt of lightning.
Did I cause that? Was the thought that raced through her mind.
She broke away then, eyes still closed and lips grazing his chin to say with a whisper, "I don't know what I'm doing."
She had meant the kiss, but realized that her words spoke volumes about her experiences- or lack thereof.
She opened her eyes when he didn't immediately respond, to find his expression one she'd never seen directed at her.
Lust.
"I think you're doing just fine," he'd said then, and he'd pressed lips to hers again, and this time she responded with equal vigor. Her hands, still fisted into his shirt, released and snaked their way around his neck, one of them skimming through his short hair. His tongue licked across her lips, and then entwined with her own. Her mind was blank of thought, filled only with the corresponding desire that was washing over her. It was as though they'd been starved of each other, and now they'd been offered a feast. Just when she thought that her breath would never return to her, Draco pulled back to let her gasp for air. It left her immediately though, when his hands slipped to her hips and his lips dropped to her neck, and he left a trail of fire down to her collarbone.
Fire. It was the only way to explain it. And even though she knew they had to stop, it felt as though the fire he'd started was going to consume her, and she wanted nothing more than to let it.
She wanted to burn.
She clung to him, pressed to him, and felt him align with her own body as though they had been made to fit this way by design. And when she had felt a hardness press into her lower abdomen, it was as though she were suddenly a bow, stretched tight and waiting release.
He wanted her.
That realization more than anything else made her breathlessly cry out, a sound of need and pleasure that had never previously escaped her lips. It was this that made Draco pause, his face buried into her neck and hair, his chest heaving and his heart racing so that she could feel its rapid beating when she slid a hand over his breastbone. He held her close, and she felt him tremble against her.
When he had spoken, it was with a gravelly voice, thick with desire. "Oh, we have to stop," he said on a shaky breath.
Hermione burrowed her head into the crook of his neck.
"I don't want to," she murmured, and her words had Draco holding her closer, a frustrated groan expelled into her neck.
"You can't say thing like that," he said with a small chuckle.
"It's true, though. I've never… I've never felt this way. I feel like… I feel like I'm on fire," the words spilled from her, almost incredulous.
Draco sucked in a sharp pull of air and pulled away from her. He examined her face then with eyes that were glazed with a primal need. "I want you," he said to her, and Hermione felt like the bow inside of her had stretched even tighter just to hear the words. "But," he continued, "We can't, you know we can't."
She nodded. She knew it. Of course she knew it. But it still didn't stop her from saying, "We could die tomorrow."
Her cheeks flushed immediately with embarrassment at having actually said the words, and the directness in which she had spoken them.
Draco laughed then, loud enough that a gull on the beach squawked in surprised irritation and scuttled farther away from them, on down the expanse of shoreline.
"You're incredible," he said with a shake of his head. "You're trying to guilt me into making love to you on a sandy beach, in plain view of all your friends."
Reality hit her then and she shook her head as if to clear cobwebs that had accumulated. The blush spread down along her neck as she realized the truth in his words.
"I'm sorry… I think I've lost my mind…"
He leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips then.
"Impossible," he told her, stepping away from her now and taking her hand, leading her to the dry sand and pulling her down to sit next to him.
They watched the waves for a bit, mostly so Draco could get hold of himself, and little by little they came to themselves again, the fire quelled for the moment.
Draco smiled at Hermione, and with shy eyes she smiled back.
"I can't believe that happened," she admitted, internally warring with the feelings of both mortification and wanting- for a part of her seemed to whisper that now was as good a time as any.
"Oh please, as if you haven't been thinking of it since third year."
She raised brows at him. "Third year!?"
Draco laughed. "I remember, you know. When you fell in the mud. I remember the look you gave me."
Hermione's thoughts raced. She remembered the day, remembered his laughter when she'd tumbled into the mud, and his irritation at falling himself. But the look? What look?
"What look?"
Draco smiled at her. "You looked at me like… Like you wanted to ask if I were alright. You looked at me, and I knew you didn't hate me. … It's why I made the Vow with you. I knew you were the only one… that it was my only chance to let someone in, who might understand."
Hermione colored once more at his words, wondering if she was always so easy to read.
"Come on," he'd said then, not giving her a chance to respond, and stood before her. He stretched and then reached out a hand to pull her up. "I'm half starved, let's get some lunch, yeah?"
And so they had walked back to Shell Cottage, a quiet happiness settled around them, and had been greeted with mostly unfriendly eyes.
"Well," started Lucius, but he was cut off by his son, who slipped past Hermione and walked to the table saying, "There's a spread then?" as though nothing were out of the ordinary. He nodded to a plate of sandwiches in the middle of the table, and without waiting for a response he leaned between Harry and Bill to snag two of the corned beef offerings. He walked back to Hermione, taking a bite from one and presenting her the other. She shook her head, her stomach doing flips at even the thought of eating. She looked at Draco like he'd grown an extra head, thinking he was much too confident- arrogant- for his own good. He just smirked at her.
From the table Lucius Malfoy broke the silence by hissing through clenched teeth, "Have you absolutely lost your senses boy?" His voice was strangled with anger.
Draco turned to face his father, not bothering to stop eating his sandwich as he addressed the man. "If I have," he began between a bite, "Then I'm certainly glad of it."
Draco then looked to Harry. "Why is he here? Why haven't you locked him away?"
Lucius said nothing, temporarily shocked into silence by Draco's blasé demeanor. Harry searched Draco's face before answering, cautiously, "Unlike your home, there's no dungeon in Shell Cottage."
Draco scowled, "I gathered that, Potter," he snapped. "I don't see why you are including him in this meeting, however. What would the Order think of the Chosen One including an active Death Eater in his private discussions?"
Hermione watched Harry roll his eyes and frown. "He insisted on being here when the two of you returned. He heard… an argument, between me and Ron."
Hermione could guess what the argument was about, surmising that Ron had been the one to see she and Draco on the beach.
She didn't have time to speculate further, though, for Draco was continuing on.
"I was not aware that a Malfoy, a prisoner, had so much clout with you, Potter."
Before Harry could respond Lucius stood, and with him so did the rest of the table, Harry especially watchful, with wand drawn and narrowed eyes at the elder Malfoy.
Lucius ignored them. "We are leaving, Draco," he said firmly, slapping a hand on the table.
Harry looked as though he were going to say something, but was cut off by Draco's scoff. He'd finished the first and second sandwiches in record time, reminding Hermione that the food she and Fleur had taken to his room had mostly come back uneaten.
Draco stepped to the group then, shoulders squared as he stood opposite his father from across the kitchen table.
"In case you were unaware," he said evenly. "You are a prisoner. You are not going anywhere."
There was a slight pause before Draco added, "And where would you go if you were allowed to leave? Not back to the Death Eaters, surely."
Lucius clenched his jaw. "We will discuss it in private, Draco."
Again Draco scoffed. "We won't," he said with assurance. "You've nowhere to go that will take you, unless it's here or Azkaban, and you'll be there soon enough I imagine."
Lucius looked affronted, but Draco kept on, his voice now edged with a biting anger that seemed to fill the room.
"You have no allies, no friends," he said. "You have no wand, even. If you were to run I doubt very much that you'd be able to successfully blend with the muggles."
It was Lucius's turn to scoff and sneer, his face contorting with disgust and a flashing look of anger thrown towards Hermione. "I would never stoop so low as to consort with the likes of-"
"I would be very careful about your next choice of words," Draco said loudly, overriding his father's sentence.
Silence permeated between them. Finally Lucius said, "Do I no longer have a son? Have I lost all in my family?"
His voice was cold, but Hermione could see that his eyes had briefly taken on a look of hopelessness and anguish. Draco must have noticed too, because his voice softened infinitesimally.
"You have lost nothing," he said, but then his next words cut through Hermione like a knife, his voice firm once more. "You'd have to have had something first, after all, to lose it."
They did not break eye contact then for quite some time, each seeming to size the other up. Then, quite abruptly, Lucius seemed to lose the fight that had been in him, and without a word he dropped back into his chair, shoulders sagging.
Ron chose this moment to speak.
"I saw you two," he said accusingly, face still as red as ever. "On the beach, I saw you."
"Oh well spotted Weasley," Draco snapped, turning to glare at Ron.
Ron huffed and began to walk towards Draco, only to have Harry step in his way. "Calm down mate," he said to Ron, and Hermione edged closer to the table, wanting also to be between Draco and Ron, but was hindered when Draco took her arm and halted her progress, keeping her instead at his side, refusing to let her shield him.
"You are a Death Eater," Ron all but yelled over Harry's shoulder at Draco. "You don't deserve her!"
Draco's left arm twitched. "I know what I am Weasel, and I don't believe it's either you or I who get to decide just who Hermione deserves."
Hermione felt her heart grow for the man next to her.
Ron continued on bullheadedly, his anger almost a tangible thing that hung in the space between them.
"Hermione," he mocked, lip curling. "Not calling her a Mudblood anymore then? It's Hermione now, is it?"
"RON!" It was an admonishment expressed by both Harry and Bill, punctuated by rapid and angry French on Fleur's part.
"Nice, Weasley," Draco bit at him, his jaw working with apparent anger. Hermione noticed that it was now that Draco had decided to retrieve his wand from his back pocket, holding it pointed down and ridged, as though it was a strain not to use it on the redhead in front of him.
Ron's eyes met Hermione's. "I'm not calling you that name, you know I'm not," he said, and Hermione knew that, as insensitive and obtuse as he could be, he hadn't meant any hurt or harm to be directed towards her with his words. "It's true though, Hermione. He's treated you like absolute rubbish. I- WE- want to know what the bloody hell is going on here!"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Get him," he jerked his head to indicate his father, still seated at the kitchen table, "out of here."
It was long minutes of tense silence as Bill stood and escorted the elder Malfoy up the stairs and into the room that had been allocated for him. Ron stood with arms crossed and glaring at Draco and Hermione, who still stood side by side, a united front.
In the silence, Hermione wondered if, by gaining Draco, she had lost her best friends.
"Locking charms on the doors and windows," Bill explained to Draco when he returned, "And silencing charms as well. He's heard nothing important."
"Mione' wouldn't let us do that for you," Ron interjected, gesturing angrily to the witch at Draco's side. "You're a prisoner, Malfoy, and she wouldn't let us lock you up."
A rush of affection filled Draco for Hermione then. Before he could say anything, however, Potter was insisting that they all take seats at the small and scarred kitchen table.
To Draco's immense displeasure, he was corralled into the vacated seat his father had been previously occupying. For a moment it looked as though he'd be the only one at this side of the table, alone to face off the rest of the household, but then Hermione dragged a chair over to him and sat by his side. Again the fondness for her swelled and he took her hand under the table and gave it a squeeze.
Before anyone else could begin, it was Hermione who addresses them.
"Draco and I have been friends since… since the end of Fourth Year, I suppose."
"You suppose?" Ron asked snidely.
Hermione sighed, frowning at him. "Yes, Ronald, I suppose. It was… It was an awkward friendship, at first."
There was quiet, with Ron seething in his seat next to Harry. Bill and Fleur remained quiet.
"Hermione," Harry began. "How is this possible? How can you have been friends for all this time? And Ron's right, Malfoy's been a complete prat to you."
She'd been ready to respond, but Draco cut her off. "Listen, I know how I've acted. It took me a long time to realize that I was… That I was wrong. After Diggory died, we took an Unbreakable Vow. And I lied to myself, back then. I thought… I thought I was just using her. Really, it was just something I told myself to keep from believing that Hermione was my friend. We had a row, we worked it out the end of last year, and here we are."
He wanted to be as vague as possible, but the group surrounding him would not be so easily satisfied with his answer.
"You're a Death Eater."
"An Unbreakable Vow?!"
"You've been terrible to her, you hate Muggle Borns!"
"You helped murder Dumbledore!"
"An Unbreakable Vow?!"
Hermione took a turn this time, cutting through the waylay of questions and outbursts.
"He hasn't been terrible for quite a while now, he doesn't hate me, he didn't help murder Dumbledore, and yes, an Unbreakable Vow."
Skeptical gazes met them then, and Draco felt Hermione grip his hand tightly, as though she were preparing for an onslaught.
Draco decided to try a different approach. "I don't hate Muggle Borns. I know… I know what I am. I know I choose the wrong side. And I know I've done terrible things. I was a part of Dumbledore being killed… not in the way you might think, but it's true. I was assigned to do it by the DarkLord, and Crabbe finished the job when I couldn't-"
"You mean Snape. Snape finished the job."
Harry had interrupted him to interject this, and Draco frowned at him. He took a moment to look up the staircase behind him, wanting to be absolutely sure they were not overheard.
"Whatever you think about Snape… You're wrong, Potter."
"I saw him," Harry insisted vehemently, elbows on the table and leaning forward. "He murdered Professor Dumbledore. I was there."
Draco knew that Potter had been with the old man that night, hidden under his invisibility cloak, and knew exactly what the situation looked like.
"You didn't see what you think. I know he killed him. I was there too. But… Snape is still on the side of the Order. I know he is."
Harry frowned. "How? How could you know this?"
Before Draco could respond Ron said, "He doesn't know Harry! He's a bloody liar. He's probably cursed Hermione!"
Hermione gave him a disgusted look. "Ridiculous! Absolutely foolish!"
"Is it?" he remarked, face pulled into a grimace. "The Hermione I know wouldn't go around snogging the effing enemy!"
Draco watched as Hermione developed angry splotches on her neck and cheeks.
"Just because it wasn't you I was snogging," Hermione hissed, "Doesn't mean I've been cursed, Ronald!"
Ron was about to explode with anger. He was halfway out of his seat, eye settling in fury upon Draco, before Harry grabbed his arm and yanked him back into his seat.
"Cool it, will you?!" Harry exclaimed to his friend.
Ron did not response, instead working his jaw and again crossing his arms.
"Mione', please," Harry pleaded, as if begging her to be sensible, to take Ron's feelings into consideration.
When he looked at her, Draco thought that Hermione looked deflated, as if the light that had previously shone brightly from within had gone out. This ignited his anger more than anything else.
"Please nothing," he snapped at Potter. "She's right, and Weasel just can't take it."
He looked to Ron then, an angry snarl set on his face. "It must kill you, that with all my shortcomings, she still wants me."
The unspoken words; that she didn't want or choose Ron, hung there without needing to be said.
Neither Harry nor anyone else could have stopped Ron from jumping from his seat then, the chair knocking back with a clatter, and Draco stood too, unwilling to be on uneven ground with the ginger.
"You bloody snake!" shouted Ron, spitting in his rage. "You're a DEATH EATER! Has everyone lost their minds?! You Know Who probably has you up to all this!"
Pride was always going to be Draco's fall, and he knew that. Of all the things he wanted to change about himself, this particular characteristic was not one he even considered. It filled him now, straightening his posture and curling his lip into a sneer. His tone was disparaging as he said, without really thinking how it would translate, "Why don't you ask your sister what I've been up to."
Ron was coming across the table it seemed, choking on a yell of outrage. Bill and Harry had to pull him back into a sitting position, Ron trying in vain to point his wand between their elbows towards Draco. Potters eyes cut to Draco, and they were narrowed and thunderous. Bill looked as if he wanted very much to release his youngest brother.
When he looked down at Hermione, her brows were raised high, and Draco realized how his words sounded.
"Oh fucking hell," he said in irritation. "I'm not sleeping with the bloody Weselette!"
On the other side of the table Ron snarled and tried with renewed anger to aim a spell at Draco.
"My sister!" he choked out. "I'll… kill… you!"
Draco rolled his eyes. "I just meant that we talk, you bloody idiot!" he shouted to the group across from him, wanting to be heard over the roar of cruses emitting from Ron. "I've helped her out this year."
This seemed to be an unacceptable statement, however, because even Hermione looked skeptical.
"I have!" Draco insisted to her, taking his seat and her hand once more.
"I believe you," Hermione responded after only a moment's hesitation. "It's just… it's very..."
"Unbelievable," Harry supplied, having gotten Ron to calm with the thinly veiled threat of ejecting him from the discussion.
They were all seated once more, Ron heaving in his chair as he attempted to control the anger that was coursing through him.
Draco sighed. He could tell them all he wanted about his interaction with Ginny, but the skepticism would be there until she herself confirmed it.
An idea sprang into his mind then, and he looked to the eldest Weasley, feeling it was best to avoid directing questions to Ron.
"Is Ginny home for the holiday?" he asked.
Bill hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah, but the floo isn't secure."
Draco pursed his lips. "Just forget it, then," he said, clearly annoyed. "Listen, all I can tell you is I've changed. My mother is dead, and instead of leaving with my father I'm here to… help," the word was like glue, and he fleetingly wondered if he'd ever get used to saying it.
Ron scoffed across from him. "Help," he mocked. "You're a bloody prisoner, Malfoy. No sanctuary for Death Eaters."
"Ron!" Hermione admonished. "Stop this! Just, stop! We have to include Draco in our plans. He's not a prisoner! We are at war; we need all the allies we can get. "
Her words piqued Draco, and he looked to her.
"… What plans?"
There was an uncomfortable silence that permeated the table then. Finally Hermione answered.
"One of the Horcruxes… we think it's in your aunts- in Bellatrix's vault, at Gringotts."
It took Draco a moment to process what she'd said, and with her words came another realization.
"Hermione… where is my aunt's body?"
Authors Note: A longer chapter for my wonderful, lovely readers.
For the reviewer who asked, yes, Braces are indeed suspenders! Also, I hope this sounds genuinely English, because I am very much so an American. If I fooled anyone, I am both sorry and flattered.
Reviews are the best of all things; please leave one on your way out!
